


Temptation

by sheol



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Living World Episode: s05e02 Shadow in the Ice, M/M, sad boy hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23278453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheol/pseuds/sheol
Summary: It’s cold and comfort is fleeting. Even the Commander grows lonely sometimes.
Relationships: Canach/Player Character (Guild Wars)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Temptation

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for episode two of the Icebrood Saga, it's imported from tumblr

In the late evening light he gives in to loneliness and runs his hand over the communicator, tuning it into a private channel. He doubts Canach is there to listen, he truly does, but even the hearth-warmed room is cold and he misses the Sylvari so, so much. For a moment he hesitates, considers how foolish it all is. But the others are gathered in the common room and there’s no one to bear witness to his longing.

“Canach?” he tries, the smallest of hopes rising at the thought that _maybe_. He waits. Longer than it would take anyone listening to answer. The hope slowly dwindles, and despite everything he can’t help but feel disappointed. It was worth a try, he supposes. He stares at the device, feeling the chill in his bones and the silence of the room. “I… miss you,” he says.

The communicator crackles in his hand and his breath catches - but then it grows silent once again. He frowns down at it. Maybe it’s become worn after all this time. He should bring it to Taimi.

 _“You seem restless,”_ a familiar voice suddenly murmurs, startling him. Canach. Except, not quite. The sound of it is almost indistinguishable from the real thing, but the words are soft and gentle. It’s free of static, the words a cold breath against his neck. He smiles grimly.

“Jormag,” he says. The voice makes no attempt to deny it.

 _“My tired commander. It is cold out there, is it not?”"_ it says instead. Part of him wants to hiss at it, _shut up_ tingling on his lips. But it’s cold and he is lonely, and even though he knows it isn’t real, the imitation comes close enough. Slowly he finds himself relaxing, letting his eyes go heavy as he chases the fight out of his body. He’s safe here, his allies only a trip down the hall. Jormag can do nothing.

“It is,” he agrees, and the voice laughs gently. He’s never heard Canach laugh like that, full and pleasant. He wonders if he ever will.

 _“Rest. I will watch over you,”_ it tempts. And it _is_ tempting- he hasn’t slept since arriving at the keep, running on dry rations and force of will, chill seeping into his bones. But he knows better. He knows that to fall asleep is to give in.

“Later,” he smiles, and finds it more genuine. Soon the room doesn’t feel quite so cold anymore, warmed by the sound of Canach’s voice.

The voice hums, patient like ice, knowing it to only be a matter of time. It should frighten him. It doesn’t. 

They return to silence, but it’s not the deafening quiet of his chambers like it was before. Instead he can almost _feel_ the presence of another in the room, warming the air until it no longer makes his muscles ache with cold. Until the air holds a pleasant warmth. Until his lips move of their own.

“I’ve missed you,” he confesses.

 _“So have I,”_ Canach replies, and the sound of it brings warmth down his spine.

“He would never say that,” he laughs, but the whispers deny it, and perhaps. His eyes drift further shut, lulled by the words, _perhaps_. There’s a promise in Canach’s words, one he’s not sure if he’s ever heard quite so clearly. 

_”You are tired, Commander. Rest._ ” Canach reminds him again, and he finds himself nodding in agreement. The thought of laying down to rest with the Sylvari after long days of battling the cold and exhaustion has never sounded better. The touch of rough skin against his own, molding along the length of his body. How long has it been? His thoughts blur. A cold breath tickle the short hairs on his neck and he leans into it.

“Will you stay with me?” he asks softly, as his eyes droop shut and his body turns slack and soft. His words are lonely and hopeful, but the voice smiles as it replies.

_”Dream, Champion. Dream with me.”_

A sudden bang startles him out of the sleepy haze, quickly alert and searching for the source. He spots Marjory, half a step inside the room, one hand on the door that’s been slammed open. All of a sudden he feels cold again, _freezing_ , the gentle warmth gone in the blink of an eye.

“Everything alright?” he asks, clearing his throat. It’s rough, as if he’s woken up from a deep sleep. She eyes him for a moment.

“Canach called. Asked us to check up on you,” she says. “Said something was wrong.” Her eyes drag down his body before coming to a rest on his lap, where they give a pointed look. He looks down.

His hand is clenched tight around one of his daggers. The skin is white where he holds it hardest. He can’t for the life of him remember how it got there. The thought of it makes him dizzy and he slowly returns it to the holster on his belt. Images play behind his eyelids of lost Vigil soldiers staring hollowly at their weapons, blades still dripping with blood as they sway mindlessly, bodies strewn around them. When he meets her eyes again there’s a knowing look, and his face heats with shame.

“I’m fine. Thank you,” he says. It sounds less convincing than it did in his head, but she only nods, the look on her face softening. It’s kind. Knowing.

“Come down to the common room,” she urges, tilting her head down the hall. “It’s warmer there.”  
  


“I’ll be there,” he says. The promise of warmth suddenly reminds him how very cold he is, of how quiet it is in his chambers. A shiver works its way up his spine.

“You better, or I’m telling Braham he can feed coffee beans to Nevermore,” she threatens, but she’s smiling. He makes a face at that, but smiles too.

“Coffee is toxic for birds, you know,” he grumbles and she laughs at that. The sound of it is genuine, and it chases away the creeping doubts of trust.

“She’s terrifyingly similar to you when it comes to eating things she shouldn’t,” she says. “Five minutes, or it’s coffee time.” With that she leaves, leaving the door open.

He sighs and straightens from the chair, watching the back of her coat as it disappears down the hall. The communicator crackles, still kept tight in his hands.

“Thank you,” he says, softly. It crackles again.

“You’re welcome,” Canach replies, voice laced with static. The easy tone of his voice sounds nothing like the soft imitation. He wonders how he ever thought the two sounded alike. “Now go, before Marjory makes good on her threat.”

He snorts but obediently pockets the device, working the chill out of his bones as he follows the sound of chatter and the warmth of a burning fire.

**Author's Note:**

> Finding that vigil soldier in the forest, surrounded by corpses, was really goddamn neat touch.
> 
> lostmylongbow.tumblr.com


End file.
